You're Going to Die
by Draikinator
Summary: Kyle is in the hospital again, and he isn't walking out. Kenny talks him through the night.


**You're Going to Die**

I woke, startled, to sputtering and coughing, a dark hacking noise. For a moment, I was confused. I had totally forgotten where I was. But the moment passed, and I remembered. Kyle's hospital room. I guess we should be thankful for the seven years Cartman's kidney earned Kyle. But I wasn't. It wasn't enough. It couldn't _possibly_ be enough. Kyle was 15. Kyle was _15._

He looked around, as confused as I had been. He'd been in and out all week. He looked different now, though. Lucid, I think.

"Wh- Kenny?" He cried suddenly, hushing his voice to a whisper in the darkness, "Where am I?"

I scooted my chair against his bed and leaned over closer to him, "You're in Hell's Pass, man. Your kidney is failing. They're looking for a new one." His face paled, a shade even lighter than the one he already sported beneath the mess of erratic freckles highlighting his cheeks.

"I…" his eyes twitched, and his hands shook, so I took them in mine. I'd spent enough time in the hospital. I know how scary it is to find out you aren't going to be walking out.

"Are they going to find one?" he whispers. It's my turn to pale.

No one talks about my condition. I don't want to talk about. No one wants to talk about it. It just… it isn't right. I've never been able to die. Not properly. I always come back. Everyone knows, but… we all just ignore it. We pretend it doesn't happen, because it's easier. But I can see in his eyes, right now, he doesn't need his friend Kenny, the poor kid whose flunking algebra for the second time, he doesn't need Kenny who routinely sells his organs on the black market for cash and _still_ can't make it stretch to cover food for a family of five _and_ his parents booze habits. Kyle doesn't need that Kenny. Kyle needs his immortal friend who Knows Things.

I search his eyes. What does he want from me? Reassurance? No. Kyle would never want that. He wants honesty, no matter how much it hurts. Kyle has always been… practical.

I clear my throat. "…No." I say, quietly, and a tremor goes through him. his hands leave mine, and find his eyes, tearing up. I keep going.

"You've been in the hospital for a few weeks, man… a few days ago I couldn't take it, and I- I went to visit Damien- you remember him. That one kid. He comes to school sometimes, but not… not often. He… it doesn't matter who he is. You're… you're on his list, man. You've got… you've got four days left. They're not going to find a kidney in time. I'm… I'm so sorry."

He keeps crying, quiet and bitter. I can see how mad he is to be seen so upset but I can also see how upset and afraid he is. He just holds his face in his hands, shining and wet, his sobs muffled and bitten back.

I push off my chair and sit on his bed, putting my hands on his shoulders.

"It's going to be okay, Kyle," I say quietly, and he looks up at me, startled, "I've taken care of everything. You aren't going in with the rest of the humans. You're my _best_ friend, and I'm on Satan's good side. His _best_ side. Everything is always set. It's going to be _okay."_

He continues to stare at me, then finally, his voice breaks, "I'm going to _Hell_?" he cries, and I realize that I might have broken that part a little gentler.

"Shit," I curse as his head falls back in his hands, "shit, Kyle- Kyle… Everyone goes to Hell. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into heaven? No one you know is going to Heaven." He keeps crying, but a little quieter.

There's no silence. Clock ticking, monitor beeping, Kyle crying.

"No one you know is going to Heaven. You'll see them again one day. And I'll visit you every day."

"I don't… I don't _want_ to go to Hell!" He cries, and the dam breaks. It's not quiet, choked sobs anymore, it's loud and hurt and broken.

I'm quiet, "I'm sorry. It's too late."

I let him cry for awhile, and finally he chokes out real words again.

"I'm- I'm never- I'm not gonna graduate-" he coughs, "I'm never gonna get married- I'm never gonna go to college- I'm never- I'm never gonna-"

This time, I just laugh, "That's what you're worried about?" I think he might hit me, "Kyle, there's college in Hell. It's not _that_ bad. You can go to Hell's College if you want. There's also _girls_ in Hell," I say, then pause, "And boys. And everything else. Whatever it is you want, I guess. You're not _alone_ in Hell."

He pauses, shoulders heaving as he hiccups, "Really?"

"Yeah, man. Dying isn't the end. Hell is just like South Park, but with less snow. And one day all of us are going to join you. It's not the end."

"When…?" he says, quietly, and I don't think it's too me, but I answer before I realize I shouldn't.

"Are you sure you want to know that?"

His head perks up suddenly, "Wait. You know when _everyone_ is going to die?"

My face goes red. Shit. "Well- I mean- yeah, I've checked. But nobody wants to know that kind of stuff.

"Kenny- I- I have to know. How long do I have to wait?"

"…I don't… I don't think you want to know this stuff, Kyle."

"I have to. I have to know how long I have to wait."

"Who do you want to know about?"

"My family, first."

"…Your mom dies of a heart attack in about fifteen years. Your dad lasts about four more before cancer takes him." He winces visibly, "Ike's lucky, though. Ike lives to be eighty. He- uh-" I stop, stammering, realizing this is going to be an awkward presentation, "he uh, dies in… bed."

"Peacefully?" Kyle asks hopefully.

"Well… probably. He dies in bed with a girl."

"O- oh. Oh." Kyle says, making a face I can't help but laugh at.

"Cartman?" He asks, not looking up.

"Age thirty five, shot at a KKK rally."

Kyle snorts, "Serves him right."

I laugh, "Yeah, it does."

"Stan?" He asks, quietly.

A long pause. I don't know if this is good news or bad, considering his position right now.

"He…" I started, looking at my hands. "Next year. He drinks himself to death."

Kyle's breath goes in sharp, and I wince.

"He… he… next…?" he stutters, trying to process it. He runs his hands through his hair, and I can see the fear, "It's not… not because of…?"

I turn away, "I dunno. They don't include stuff like that in the reports. But I think.. probably, yeah. He's never had a strong grip on reality and I think… I think that, I mean, without you there his life is just going to get darker and… I…" I clench my hands.

"Isn't there anything I can do?" His voice is shaking, "If I… if I just talk to him, can I- maybe if I-"

I shake my head, "This is why I didn't want to… Kyle, this stuff is set in stone. If you tell him when and how he's going to die it will just… it will just make things worse. You can't tell him."

His head vanishes, fingers tugging at the curls of red hair on his forehead, "But I… I don't… I don't _want_ him to die young. Not like me. That's not fair…."

"At least you'll see him again soon,:" I say, trying to be helpful. This time, he _does_ hit me.

"No!" He yells, too loudly, and I'm shushing him through the blood on my cut lip, "I don't want him to die! Even if it means I see him again! I want him to live! I want him to live a good, long life and bring me stories, and- and-"

"I'm sorry, man. It's just going to happen."

There's a long not-silence of beeping and ticking and crying.

"What about you?" He says finally.

And that's it. My head swims. I bite my lip, drowning out the static in my ears and the urge to stand up and walk right out of the room.

"I don't know." I say, finally.

"You don't… know? Did you not want to know?" He asks.

"No, I- I only know what my next death is. It never shows anything past that. I don't… I don't know when I'm going to _die_ die. For real. I don't know. No one knows."

He leans back against the bed, probably emotionally drained already. "But you'll visit, right? You won't… you won't leave me alone, down there, will you?"

I shake my head. "No. Never. I'll visit you as much as I can. I'll bring pictures of your funeral. It'll be real pretty, I bet. I'll re-introduce you to Damien. I think you'll really like him."

He nods slowly, pulling the covers back up in the over air-conditioned room.

"Is it going to hurt?" he says, and I swallow. Lie? No.

"…Yeah. It's going to hurt a _lot._ Kidneys… are not a fun organ to lose. You'll probably sleep through most of it, though."

"I would rather… I would rather be awake…" He says, and suddenly I realize, he's not cold, he's tired. Lucidity is fading with his consciousness. "I only get a little while… with my family…"

And with that, he's gone again.

I sit there for awhile, in case he wakes up.

He doesn't.

"I'd sell my soul in a heartbeat to keep you here," I sigh, finally, thumbing my pockets for a desperately needed smoke, "if only I had one."

I leave the room. He's not going to need me for a few days, yet.

p


End file.
